_Esper._ Madam, you must not to despair give place;
Heaven never meant misfortune to that face.
Suppose there were no justice in your cause,
Beauty's a bribe that gives her judges laws.
That you are brought to this deplored estate,
Is but the ingenious flattery of your fate;
Fate fears her succour, like an alms, to give;
And would you, God-like, from yourself should live.

_Almah._ Mark but how terribly his eyes appear!
And yet there's something roughly noble there,
Which, in unfashioned nature, looks divine,
And, like a gem, does in the quarry shine.
[ALMANZOR _returns; she falls at his feet, being
veiled._

_Almah._ Turn, mighty conqueror, turn your face this way,
Do not refuse to hear the wretched pray!

_Almanz._ What business can this woman have with me?

_Almah._ That of the afflicted to the Deity.
So may your arms success in battle find;
So may the mistress of your vows be kind,
If you have any; or, if you have none,
So may your liberty be still your own!

_Almanz._ Yes, I will turn my face, but not my mind:
You bane and soft destruction of mankind,
What would you have with me?